


Prepare for an Aching

by sartiebodyshots



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Meet in New York AU, like real bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23729422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sartiebodyshots/pseuds/sartiebodyshots
Summary: Eddie is a driver in New York tasked with driving around semi-famous comedian Trashmouth Tozier.  They don't remember their childhood friendship, but they feel drawn to each other anyway.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Myra Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 65





	Prepare for an Aching

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I have to title fics in this fandom from the Front Bottoms' lyrics. (looking like you just woke up)

“I’m your new driver, Mr. Tozier,” Eddie says, holding out his hand. 

He looks at his new client with interest. Eddie doesn’t normally get clients that he’s heard of, but he had watched _Trashmouth_ every week for a while, until Myra teased that he seemed to like that Trashmouth Tozier more than her. 

That made his head spin in an unpleasant way, and he had drunk himself halfway to a coma that night. 

(In the dark nights, maybe had imagined. Things he can’t bear to admit imagining.)

But still, it gives him a bit of a thrill to get to drive around someone he’s actually heard of.

The other man makes a face at him, shaking his head. He’s rumpled, having just gotten off a plane, but Eddie gets the distinct impression that he always looks a little rumpled.

“Richie,” he says, shaking his hand firmly. “Please, just call me Richie. And your name?” 

There’s a warmth that passes through him as they touch that sparks something inside Eddie and he can’t help but smile. 

“My name is Eddie Kasprak, but you can just call me Eddie,” he says and then presses his lips together. He always keeps a very strict professional boundary between himself and his clients. “It’s good to meet you.”

“Good to meet you too,” Richie says.

Richie’s hand lingers in his for a long moment. 

“So, where are we off to today?” Eddie asks when the moment ends.

“I have a meeting with my agent first thing,” Richie says. “Down in Bryant Park.”

“No problem, sir,” Eddie says. 

Richie swallows hard and gets into the car. 

There’s a strange quiet that settles over them as they get going. It’s not a normal silence, though; there’s a hum in the air, simmering just under the surface, and it makes it hard for Eddie to breathe. 

They hit Manhattan, and Eddie glances back at him. He has no idea if Richie has been to New York before, but even if he has, it’s nice to see people looking in wonderment at the city he calls home. Or he can judge them for staring at their phones.

But Richie isn’t looking at the buildings or at his phone. Instead, he’s staring at _him_. Eddie can tell that he hasn’t taken his eyes off of him in a while. 

When Eddie catches him staring, Richie turns bright red and looks away. Eddie finds himself wishing that Richie would keep staring, but then he shakes himself internally. That doesn’t make any sense. 

Eddie decides to concentrate on the road.

* * *

Richie knows that he’s never met his driver before. He doesn’t know anyone named Eddie; he knows that he would remember someone that looks like that. 

But equally strong, he feels sure that he knows Eddie. He sits in the car behind him and just stares at the back of his head, trying to sort it out. 

Plus… he's cute.

But then Eddie catches him looking and Richie feels the heat rise on his face as he suddenly becomes fascinated with whatever is outside. There's a sick feeling in his stomach all of a sudden, and he's relieved that they're almost there. 

The car has been warm this whole time, but now it's turned uncomfortably so. 

Richie risks a glance forward and is relieved that Eddie isn't still looking at him. 

He looks away to avoid being caught. 

"We're almost there," Eddie says. 

"Great, thank you," Richie says, feeling weirdly stiff. "Do you, uh, come with me or do you stay with the car?"

"I mean, I'm not your bodyguard, so I stay with the car," Eddie says. 

Richie barks a laugh at that. "Okay, got it. Never had a driver before. Usually, I just drive myself around." 

Eddie gives him a small smile as they pull up. "The company should have given you my number. Just text or call when you're ready to leave."

"Will do. Thanks, Eddie," Richie says.

He glances at the other man and then it hits him why he looks so familiar: Eddie looks like the last man he slept with before moving to LA all those years ago. After that, Richie had decided to swear off dating, knowing it would be inevitable that he would be outed if he didn’t. But the last man he dated and slept with has an uncanny resemblance to his new driver. 

That explains the weird tension, at least.

Richie tries to keep his thoughts away from Eddie as he goes to find his agent, Syd, but his thoughts keep drifting back regardless.

“Hey, Richard, are you listening?” Syd asks, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve explained this three times.” 

“Sorry, Syd,” Richie says, making a face when she uses his full name. “I’m jet lagged?” 

“Maybe we should pick this up after dinner? You can go back to the hotel and take a nap, if you want,” Syd says. “Today is pretty open.” 

Richie fake-yawns, which he’s sure is entirely unconvincing. “Sounds good.”

“Make sure you do take a nap, though. We do actually have to go over your appearance schedule,” Syd says.

“You know me, Sydward,” Richie says with a grin.

Syd just rolls her eyes.

* * *

Eddie’s not sure how he got into this situation. Namely, the situation of having Trashmouth Tozier’s dick in his mouth. 

That’s not true, of course he remembers, but he knows that as soon as this is done, he’s going to want to forget all of it anyway.

But what had happened was this: 

_Richie texts him that he’s ready for a pickup. Ready to be taken to the hotel._

_Eddie picks him up. He starts a pleasant conversation, as many clients enjoy that, and it quickly turns to him laughing his ass off as Richie makes some of the stupidest noises that he’s ever heard._

_Richie has a lot of bags; helping with baggage is part of Eddie’s job; they carry the bags up to Richie’s (nice, spacious) room, and Eddie, forgetting the delineation between them, again, states that his stand up routine isn’t funny enough for a room this nice._

_They are standing close together, and Richie smells like something that Eddie has long forgotten. Not like home, as that’s not a happy thought, but something sweeter. Something like a bright summer’s day, if that made any sense._

_Richie laughs at him and says that his agent knows someone, tossing his bags carelessly on the floor as he asks if he’d like to stay, just for a bit, and this seems familiar too. (Eddie knows he should leave.)_

_Eddie wants to say that Richie moves first, that it’s Richie who initiates, that it’s Richie who makes him do this, but he can’t because he knows the truth. Richie turns to look at him in just the perfect way, and it unleashes something inside Eddie that he can’t ignore. That he has been so good at ignoring._

_If he doesn’t kiss Richie right **now** there’s something inside of him that will die. And it’s something that he’s been trying to kill all of his life, but he can’t stand to let it go in this moment._

_He’s never kissed anyone with any great passion before, but this time, he’s pretty sure he’s going to leave bruises from how hard he’s gripping Richie’s arm. Richie is hard against him almost immediately, and Eddie pushes him against the wall and gets on his knees._

And that’s how Eddie got here, practically gagging himself on some comedian’s dick. God, who knew what Richie Tozier was packing underneath the ugly shirts and loose pants?

Richie makes the most wonderful groans above him as Eddie finds a way to take him in even deeper. He’s narrowed his brain down to this, to the man in front of him and his fingers in his hair and the fiery pull in his stomach urging him closer and closer.

Eddie moves entirely on instinct as he buries his face against Richie’s belly. He peers up at Richie, surprised that he’s looking back at him. There’s a tender expression on his face and Eddie has to look away; it’s too much for a man he’s only known for a few hours. 

Richie has the same tender expression when they’re both spent, curled up together on the hotel bed. His fingers stroke carefully over Eddie’s cheek, trailing down his neck. 

It’s too much again, this bright affection in Richie’s eyes, but then Eddie has a flash of memory. A floppy haired young man- no, a boy, really- elbowing him, jubilant. The boy’s body pressed close to his. It’s very different from where he finds himself now, but there’s a spark of familiarity, too.

“Rich…” Eddie says softly, a thought just floating on the edges of his brain. He tries to grab hold of it, to understand why everything feels so familiar, but he can’t quite get it. “ _Richie_.” 

“Yeah,” Richie says, carefully, like he’s worried that if he says it wrong, everything will end. 

Eddie moves to stroke Richie’s cheek, something important on the tip of his tongue, but then the light gleams off of his wedding band and everything coalesces into sharp focus. 

He’s straight. He’s married. He’s a professional. He can’t be here. 

He pulls away, bolting to his feet. There’s a sick feeling in his stomach as he grabs his clothes, throws them on his body, and runs out the door before the man in bed can say anything. 

Fuck, shit, goddamn, shit, fuck.

* * *

Richie watches as his driver flees from the room and falls back with a groan. His head is spinning. Well over a decade of never doing anything to out himself- barely being willing to even think about being attracted to men- and he ruins it all for a fling with his driver. He’s going to be a tawdry tabloid headline. 

Syd is going to murder him, and Richie is glad about that. 

The nausea surges up in his gut, and he barely makes it to the bathroom before vomiting. He falls to his knees and the porcelain is cool if disgusting against his face. 

He’s ruined everything. He’s ruined everything. He’s ruined everything. It pounds into his head as he cleans himself up.

Richie barely manages to crawl back to bed before collapsing. The weight of his shame exhausts him suddenly- he doesn’t want to have to remember anything of this, at least for now- and he passes out. 

He dreams of a young boy, of two young boys, of a clown, of having a group of friends that really love him. He dreams of his new driver- cute cute _cute-_ and of the things they could do if the world was a better place. 

There’s a knocking on his door, and Richie jolts awake. Despite the shot of adrenaline, his brain feels hazy, slow moving. He’s sore in a weird way, and the bed is a mess. 

“Richie, you up?” Syd asks. “It’s dinnertime.” 

“Yeah, just a minute,” Richie says when he sees that his clothes are strewn all over the place. Why the hell did he decide to nap naked? “Or five.”

Syd knocks on his door again and her footsteps retreat.

There’s something trying to fight its way to the surface of his brain as he surveys the room and feels the ache of his body. He could fight for whatever it is, maybe, but something tells him that he doesn’t want to know. That knowing would ruin everything.

Instead of fighting for the memory, he gets to his feet and starts getting ready for dinner, pushing it away. By the time he’s walking downstairs with Syd, he doesn’t remember that there’s anything he’s forgotten.

“Hello, Mr. Tozier,” the driver says with a tip of the hat. 

“Richie is fine, really,” Richie says. 

“And I’m Syd, Richie’s agent,” Syd says with a smile and an extended hand. “We haven’t met yet.”

“I’m Eddie,” he says, eyes flicking curiously over at Richie as he shakes Syd’s hand. “Good to meet you.” 

And Richie shakes his head, because it’s weird he forgot his name. He tries not to be that brand of asshole, but he was pretty tired from travelling. 

“We have dinner reservations down at the Jameson,” Syd says. 

“Not a problem, ma’am,” Eddie says, opening the door for her. 

He comes around to the other side and then frowns when he sees that Richie has already opened his door for himself. When he passes by, Richie gets a whiff of something vaguely familiar, but he shakes it off. 

Forgets.

Richie spends the car ride half listening to Syd go over his appearances and half looking at the back of Eddie’s head and the sliver of his face he can see in the rearview mirror. He realizes halfway through the car ride that Syd has given up trying to get his full attention. 

“We’re here,” Syd says, poking at him. 

Richie realizes with a start that they’ve _been_ stopped and he was too distracted by Eddie to notice. 

“Sorry, still tired,” Richie says. 

“Right,” Syd says, looking at him too knowledgeably for him to feel comfortable. 

Richie doesn’t look at either of them as they get out of the car and make their way into the restaurant. It’s a nice enough place, and they’re seated in a private booth. Syd goes over his schedule for the next couple days in detail, and Richie manages to actually pay attention. 

They’re done with a decent chunk of their meal when business-Syd finishes up and she relaxes a bit. She looks at him with that same knowledgeable look that made him so uncomfortable earlier. 

“Why do you keep looking at me?” Richie finally asks, glaring up at her. 

“I just think your little crush on Eddie is cute is all,” Syd says with a smile. “It’s good to see you relax a half fraction, personally speaking. I worry about you, Richie.” 

Richie feels his stomach clench and his hands suddenly grip the glass as if it’s the only solid thing in the world. He suddenly wants to get up and leave or lean over and vomit or just pass out and ignore that Syd has said anything. There’s static in his brain, and he knows that Syd is expecting some sort of response, that he should make a funny joke, but the static is so loud that he can’t get it just right. 

“I d-don’t. I don’t like him- I barely know him. Seems like a man,” Richie says, very intelligently. “One that’s okay.”

He realizes that that probably doesn’t sound very convincing. 

“Okay,” Syd says, holding up her hands like she’s soothing a wild animal. “Of course. If you ever did have a crush on the driver, that’d be fine.”

“Yeah, of course,” Richie says, heart beat returning a little more normal. “But that’s not going to happen, so it doesn’t really matter.”

His voice is hard, firm, unusually so, and Syd blinks and looks for a moment like he just reached over and smacked her. But then her face returns to normal.

“Sorry,” Syd mutters, returning to her food. 

Dinner has suddenly turned uncomfortable, and Richie picks at his food. 

“No, I’m sorry,” Richie says when his food is almost gone. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.” 

Syd hums and continues eating. 

The tension is still palpable, but a wave of exhaustion washes over Richie, and the rest of the night is silent.

“Have a good night, Richie,” Eddie says when he drops them off at the hotel.

“You too,” Richie says with a smile.

The brief contact as he brushes by the other man makes Richie flush; that night he gets a little indulgent and imagines bringing Eddie back to his hotel room, kissing him and fucking him; much later that night, he falls asleep and dreams of being a fifteen year old again, laughing in a quarry with another fifteen year old. It’s sweet and gentle and he remembers nothing of it in the morning.

* * *

Eddie goes home to Myra that night. He kisses her cheek and sits down to the dinner she’s prepared him.

“I hate it when you have to work so late,” Myra says with a frown. 

“I know, sweetheart, but it’s part of the deal, especially for the celebrity clients,” Eddie says.

“Oooh, anyone interesting?” Myra asks.

“Some comedian? Trashmouth Tozier?” Eddie says. 

“Oh, that one that you were so in love with a few months back?” Myra says.

It makes his stomach swoop as she says it; he knows it’s a joke; he knows that it’s nothing; his ring flashes despite the dim light of their kitchen and he has a sudden image of Richie looking at him with soft tenderness that he forces away firmly. 

“He’s really not that funny in person,” Eddie mumbles. 

“Too bad,” Myra says with a shrug. “Don’t forget to take your pills.” 

The evening passes quietly, as it usually does. Eddie stays up too late because he likes having the house to himself after Myra retires, only slightly bothered by things that he can’t remember. 

He crawls into bed with her, curled to his side of the bed, and tries to drift off to sleep. Something in him doesn’t feel quite right, so he just lays there and carefully doesn’t think of anything.

* * *

Richie has an appearance on a talkshow that night, and he somehow convinces Eddie to come in with him over his protests. Syd raises an eyebrow at this, but doesn’t say anything. 

From his seat, he can see Eddie standing in the wings. He’s staring at him, and it burns even when Richie does his best to focus instead on the host. 

He makes the host laugh and he finds himself looking over for Eddie’s reaction, content when he’s laughing too. It doesn’t hit him until halfway through the set how ridiculous he’s being; he’s like a kid with a crush, except he’s thirty eight. Maybe this is what he’s in for, with staying closeted for the rest of his life- falling half in love with any handsome man who smiles just so at him. 

(Something in the back of his head tells him that that’s not true. There’s something different about Eddie- this is happening for a _reason_ ; that he feels this way for a _reason_ \- but he’s on stage and he’s afraid, so he pushes it deep inside of him.)

Richie manages to keep his focus away from Eddie for the remainder of his interview, even if he still feels him watching him. It’s hard, something he has to remind himself to do, and tension of it snaps when he’s done with the interview; once the host dismisses him in their commercial break chatter, he gets up to walk offstage and his attention turns instantly to Eddie.

It doesn’t help that Eddie is looking back at him, eyes bright and shining. There’s a smile on his lips and Richie has the crazy urge to wrap his arms around him and press his mouth to that smile. 

He’s about to do just that, forgetting about the crowd and forgetting about his fear, when Syd jolts him back to reality with a hand on his arm. Richie looks up at her and she has a tight smile on her face.

“Good job, Trashmouth,” Syd says. 

“Thanks, Syd,” Richie says. “Do you want to stick around for the rest of the show?”

Syd yawns and shakes her head. “I’m tired, so I’m good if you just want to go back to the hotel.” 

“Is that good with you?” Richie asks Eddie without thinking.

Eddie looks like he wants to stay, eyes lingering on the set, but he nods, “Of course.”

Richie bites his lip, calculating, thinking, trying to push down on some foriegn impulse. “Actually, I think we should stay through. It’s more polite, right?”

Syd presses her lips together, gives him one more knowing look, and the nods with a barely restrained sigh. “Yes, more polite.”

Eddie beams at him and Richie can’t help but smile back. He has a sudden image of what Eddie must have looked like as a young boy, his hair just so and eyes so bright; Richie doesn’t know where it comes from, but he has a sure feeling that his image is correct.

Without the pressure of the audience, Richie keeps his eyes on Eddie. He’s interested in the production, even if he’s not starstruck. 

It makes Richie’s breath hitch when Eddie backs unconsciously towards him, close enough that Richie can feel his body heat, even over the heat of the stage lights and the heat of his own rapidly beating heart. Richie feels like he’s slowly going insane, standing here and about to swoon over the body heat of someone he’s known barely a day.

Richie wants to kiss Eddie and it’s a refrain in the back of his head. All he wants to do is spin Eddie around and kiss him. Something about that seems so right in a way that terrifies Richie, but terrifies him in a way that he wants to run towards.

The sensation gets worse when he notices Eddie keeping half an eye on him, even while he’s driving them back to the hotel.

Richie runs towards that fear after they arrive back at the hotel. Richie sends Syd off with a goodnight, and Eddie gives him the perfect excuse to stay when he calls his name.

“Thanks for staying through the end of the show,” Eddie says. “I know that neither of you wanted to stay.”

“Eh, wasn’t so bad,” Richie says. 

They’re standing closer than is technically necessary to have this conversation, but it’s late enough that the garage where they’re parked is entirely empty. 

Richie runs towards the fear for once in his life, leaning down to kiss Eddie. His lips are softer than they look and Eddie cups his face urgently to pull him closer.

It’s like no other kiss that Richie can remember; it makes him understand every cheesy song that makes him want to retch; it makes him forget his overwhelming fear of being outed, of the shame he knows he would feel if everyone found out he’s gay; he doesn’t think about any of it, just pulls the other man against him.

When they pull apart, Eddie’s face is flushed and he has a look of revelation on his face. There’s something else going on here, something that Richie can’t explain because this shouldn’t mean so much, but he’s afraid of what it means so he ignores it.

“Do you want to go up to my room?” Richie murmurs in Eddie’s ear, pressing a kiss there.

“Nuh uh,” Eddie says. “Fuck me here.”

Richie can’t imagine saying no to that, and he’s gentle as he spins Eddie around to bend him over the hood of his car. It only takes a moment for both of them to get their pants around their ankles.

He ignores the buzzing in his brain as he pushes into Eddie and as he presses kisses against whatever part of him he can reach. 

When they’re both exhausted, Eddie turns around and pulls him close, eyes half closed as he pulls Richie down. Their foreheads knock together and Eddie touches Richie’s cheek with bright wonder.

“Eds?” Richie whispers.

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie says just as quiet.

That buzz in the back of his head grows louder and louder as he half remembers flashes of a quarry, of a clown, of a gaggle of friends worth dying for, before a car honks outside the parking garage and he’s jolted back to reality. 

“Fuck, shit,” Richie says, jumping out of Eddie’s grasp and pulling his pants up. “This didn’t happen, okay? This didn’t happen. It can’t have happened.”

He knows he should wait for Eddie to say something, but he has to get out of here. Heart pounding, he flees, ignoring his name when called. He only stops when the roil of his stomach causes him to throw up in the elevator. 

Disgusting. 

How appropriate.

* * *

Eddie watches Richie’s retreating back, heart pounding. One of his clients fucking him over the hood of his car in a dingy Manhattan parking garage should feel trashy. Instead it felt like (and he makes himself gag just thinking it) making love. Which would be stupid even if it wasn’t pitiful, but there was something between them that Eddie can’t explain. 

When Richie called him Eds, it was like a longstanding in-joke from a man that he’s only known for a day. Eddie had felt so close to understanding. Had felt so close to figuring why nothing makes sense around Richie.

But then Richie ran.

And Eddie doesn’t want to figure this out alone.

A haze starts to sweep over his memory and Eddie- delicate little Eddie who has forgotten his bravery- walks into that. Walks right into the haze that wipes away the tenderness in Richie’s eyes or how good it felt to kiss him and all of the truths that he can’t face yet because, god, he can’t face them alone.

By the time he reaches home, he doesn’t know why he aches in these weird ways or how his pants got to have such a mess in them (what the fuck?!), but something in him has him clean up everything quickly and the confusion fades right away. 

It’s fine. 

It’s taken care of.

“Sweetie, are you feeling alright?” Myra says when he gets out of the shower.

“Yeah, of course,” Eddie says, pulling his robe tighter around himself and turning towards his dresser to find some pajamas. “Just tired is all.”

“I thought we could maybe have… some husband and wife time tonight,” Myra says. 

Eddie suppresses a shudder as he digs through his pajamas. He’s never really been much for sex; he’s only done it with his wife and mostly when it’s a special occasion. Usually, neither of them really ask. Eddie certainly never does.

“Oh, okay,” Eddie says, pulling out some pajamas at random. “Like, watching a movie?”

“Oh no, Eddie, I thought we could do something a little more special,” Myra says, voice sultry. 

Eddie swallows hard as he turns around. His wife is lounging in bed, wearing a sheer babydoll lingerie set. Her hair is done in pretty curls and she looks... beautiful, he guesses. He can tell that she’s worked to make everything special for him; he can tell how much she wants this.

“You look beautiful,” Eddie says. 

“I keep thinking about how nice it would be to have some little ones running around here,” Myra says, holding out a hand.

“You’re right,” Eddie says, swallowing hard.

He knows his wife is attractive, knows that he should appreciate how patient she is with him. There’s just something wrong with him that he can’t just want her the way a husband rightly should. 

Trying to get himself excited, he takes slow steps towards his wife. He tries to convince himself he wants her because he loves her and he doesn’t want to hurt her more than he must have already hurt her.

“You look beautiful,” Eddie says again more firmly. 

Myra beams at him and his heart breaks because he can’t bring himself to do this for her enough. There’s something so wrong with him, and if he was a better man, he never would’ve let Myra marry him. 

But he’s not a good man.

And he did let Myra marry him. 

So tonight, he does what he knows his wife wants from him. It’s the least he can do, no matter how it makes him feel. 

When they’re done and Myra is asleep, Eddie slips into the shower. He scrubs himself so he doesn’t have to feel the shadow of her touch against him, and he can feel tears welling up in his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says to nobody. “I’m so sorry.”

There’s no comforting haze to erase these memories. Just the sickening knowledge that he’s not good enough.

* * *

“Richie?!” 

The elevator dings and Syd’s voice comes from above him. He looks up from where he has vomited to see his manager being comically hit by the elevator door as she looks at him with concern.

“Hey Syd,” Richie says, voice scratching against his throat.

“What the fuck?” Syd says. 

“Can you, uh, help me please?” Richie says. “I think if I try to get up on my own, I’ll get covered in vomit.”

“Sure,” Syd says.

She leans down and grabs him under the armpit. With surprising ease, she hauls him to his feet and helps him step over the pile of his vomit.

“You’re coming with me,” Syd says, pulling him towards her room when he tries to break off.

“Oh, Syd, I’m flattered, really, but-”

“Ew, Richie,” Syd says, sitting him on the bed since there’s no other furniture. “Sit. Stay.”

She crosses over to the phone in the room and dials. Richie can’t hear what she says over the roaring in his ears. He fucked a guy in public. A guy who could make at least a middling amount of money by selling his story. Fuck, shit. He’s spent most of his adult life being careful, and it all falls apart because some driver was cute.

By the time she turns back around, Richie is crying into his hands. The exact details of the evening are getting fuzzier, but his shame keeps it alive in his mind in this moment.

Syd sits next to him and wraps an arm around him.

“What’s going on with you, Richie?” Syd asks. “Please don’t tell me nothing or try to make a stupid joke.”

Richie swallows hard. “Stupid jokes are all I’m good for.”

Syd tilts his chin up so he has to look her in the eye; her sincerity and affection are sweet but painful in this moment. “You know that that’s not true.”

“Yeah,” Richie says. He leans against her; they’ve been friends since he moved out to LA; as his agent, she’s his best shot at keeping this under wraps. “Syd, I did something stupid, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Have you committed a murder or a sex crime?” Syd asks.

Richie isn’t sure if fucking in a parking garage counts as, like, public indecency or not. He’s sure that’s not what she means anyway.

“No?” Richie says.

“Then we can figure it out,” Syd says. 

“I, uh, had sex with Eddie. With the driver. In the parking garage. Which might be public indecency? I’m not sure,” Richie says. He buries his head in his hands again. “I’m gay. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, Richie, can you look at me, please?” Syd asks, voice quiet like he’s a scared animal. “It’s okay.”

Richie shakes his head. If he looks at her, looking at him with shame and disgust in her eyes, he’s definitely going to vomit again. 

“Okay,” Syd says. The arm around him squeezes him tight and her cheek rests against the top of his. “First, you don’t have anything to be sorry for- except probably for vomiting in the elevator. That’s a little grody. You’re a wonderful man and being gay is just one more aspect of that, not something to be ashamed of. Second, I’m a lesbian and so’s my girlfriend, so it’d be super hypocritical of me to get too down on homosexuality. Third, we’ll figure out whatever with your career later because what’s important is that you’re happy.”

Richie takes a second to absorb all of that. He can’t believe it, can’t believe that her reaction to _him_ is with all of this love. It makes him cry even harder, and Syd rocks him back and forth gently.

“I know it’s hard. I know it’s painful, and I know you’re scared. But we’ll figure this out together,” Syd says. “You’re good, Richie.”

“I’m not,” Richie says. “I’m a fucking coward. I’m not coming out of the closet.”

“That takes a whole different kind of strength. There’s no easy way to be gay, unfortunately,” Syd says gently. “We’re going to work out what to do about Eddie, and then we’re going to work out everything else. But I promise that you’re going to be okay, Richie.”

Richie can feel himself winding down a bit. Maybe it’s how the memory of it feels fuzzy around the edges or just Syd’s calming nature, but he’s able to compose himself enough to look up at Syd. The love there still burns, but it’s alright. 

“Thanks Syd,” Richie says, sniffing a bit. “In case you can’t tell, I’ve never really told anyone I’m gay before. Probably won’t ever again, really.”

“Well, if you change your mind, just so you know- it can be done without vomiting in an elevator,” Syd says with a smile. 

“Good to know,” Richie says. “So, uh, you mentioned a girlfriend earlier?” 

Syd obviously can’t help the absolutely smitten grin that passes over her face. “Yeah…”

“So how long have you been hiding that from me, huh?” Richie asks with mock accusation.

Syd laughs and gets up, bottles clinking as she rifles through the minibar. She tosses him a couple little bottles of whiskey and vodka, keeping the tequila and the rum for herself. 

Richie takes the downs the first bottle of vodka in one gulp and chases that with another, smiling as Syd lights up talking about how she met her girlfriend and the dumb adventures they get up to. The alcohol and the love make him feel warm, warm enough to even admit his stupid crush on Eddie.

“I don’t know what it is, Syd!” Richie says, a few more drinks in. “I look at him, and I feel like I’ve known him forever! I feel like I’ve loved him my whole life! That’s so stupid, I know, but that’s what I feel!”

He barely remembers his encounter with Eddie in the parking garage at this point or their evening on stage; all he remembers is his reaction to it, all in hazy drunk retrospect, and how they keep talking about it. It’s the talking about it that’s keeping it real, at this point. 

“I mean, sometimes it’s like that!” Syd says. They’re both sprawled on her bed, his head resting on her soft stomach so he can feel her talking. “Sometimes you meet someone, and you just know they’re supposed to be in your life! I knew I wanted you in my life when I met you! In a different way, but it happens.”

Richie laughs. He feels so warm and light; he doesn’t ever think he’s been this warm and light in his life. It’s the joy of having someone understand him, of finally not being alone. His heart is full to bursting; he had known forever that he was never going to have this feeling, but he has it anyway!

“Eddie is just so cute! His cute eyes and the way his hair falls and his little fanny pack and how he looks when he gets all riled up- that’s what I liked when we were kids,” Richie says with a drunk sigh. He reaches for another bottle. It’s empty, so he tosses it aside and grabs another. This one is full so he opens it and downs it. “I love him! And I think I always loved him, even when we were kids, but I just forgot!”

Syd sits upright, gently letting Richie’s head fall into her lap. “You know our driver?”

She’s more relaxed than he’s ever seen her, face red from alcohol and laughter and love, but she’s settled into it in a way that tells Richie this isn’t new. It’s easy for her in a way that Richie wishes it could be easy for him, to just relax into openness and happiness. Maybe that’s what happens when you’ve decided to be yourself.

“I think so? Everything is so blurry from back then. It doesn’t make any sense,” Richie says, rubbing his eyes. “I love him. That’s all I know. That’s all that matters.”

Richie could cry with it, feels like he’s about to explode with the love he can barely grasp. There’s the impulse to be ashamed for forgetting, but he’s too full of love for shame right now. 

Syd’s fingers are carding through his hair and he realizes that they’re both crying, but with matching smiles. 

“I have to tell him now! I have to tell him that I love him! That we forgot!” Richie says, sitting upright and looking around for his phone. “Eddie has to know.”

Syd grabs his arm and pulls him back to the bed as he tries to scramble off of it towards his phone. He lands with an oof. 

“Big rule of being drunk and gay. Don’t make gay confessions while absolutely hammered,” Syd says with a gentle smile. “You want to wait until you’re sober. Then, if you still want to declare your love, I’ll help you throw a parade if you want, but I’ve done the drunk confession thing, and it’s not pretty.”

Richie bites his lip and looks over to his phone. He wants to do it now; Syd doesn’t understand- if he forgot a love like this before, it could happen again. There’s something _making_ him forget! 

But bed is so soft and his limbs are so heavy and everything is so warm and Richie lays back down on the bed. He’ll get the phone in a minute. He’ll explain it to Syd in a minute. It’ll be fine in a minute.

“I love Eddie. I love Eddie. I love Eddie,” Richie whispers it to himself like a prayer as he falls asleep. 

He can’t forget this. He _won’t_ forget this. 

(But prayers don’t work, not for Richie, not with this, so when he wakes up the next morning, he has a headache and a crick in his neck from sleeping weird and holes in his memories more precise than time or alcohol can explain.)

* * *

Eddie gets up early and goes for a run. He doesn’t usually do this, but he has an urge that he can’t ignore. 

“What the fuck am I doing?” Eddie murmurs as he laces his sneakers.

He starts with a light jog, but he can still feel his thoughts crawling around in the back of his skull. The last few days of work have been a blur. It’s the familiar sort of haze, the kind that’s settled over his childhood that he can’t pierce. 

The haze is something he can’t bear to think about, so he pushes himself harder. His heart pounds in his chest so hard it hurts in a wonderful way; it roars in his ears loud enough that he can’t hear anything. No more thoughts, just the burning in his lungs and his legs and his entire body.

Eddie’s leg shake and knees buckle, but he keeps pushing until he literally can’t anymore. He collapses in a heap on a bench, entire body in sweet pain. When he’s able to focus his eyes again, he realizes he’s facing out towards the river. 

The seagulls scream their songs and Eddie wants to sing with them. They flap their little wings, fighting a winning battle against gravity. His heart beats in time with their wings, but he stays still.

There are tears in his eyes again. Is this just what life is, this empty frustration? 

Eddie checks his watch, realizes he’s definitely not going to have time to shower before work. Well, shit. 

With a pained groan, he gets to his feet. He tamps down on his frustration, on his anger. Smooths it down to unassuming nothingness. Now, he’s just… empty, but fine with it, really. Nothing notable. Just like anyone else.

“Sorry I’m late,” Eddie says when he arrives at the hotel an hour later. “Traffic.”

“It’s fine,” Richie says with a groan. “Just talk quieter. Please.”

Eddie snorts, realizes that both Richie and Syd have sunglasses on. Richie’s are incredibly bulky, resting overtop his regular glasses. It looks ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, but in an endearing way.

“Enjoy your night?” Eddie asks, opening the door to the car.

“Presumably,” Syd says, crawling in the back. 

Richie groans as he drops into the car. They lean against against each other and Eddie feels a pang of jealousy that he chooses not to interrogate too closely. 

Syd is a handsome woman and Richie is leaning against her. That’s definitely where the jealousy comes from, and it’s inappropriate because she’s a client and he’s a happily married man, so he shuts that down right away.

It’s a busy day, shuttling them back and forth to the studio, the hotel, and restaurants. Richie and Syd come a bit more alive by the time they hit lunch; when Richie comes alive it makes Eddie feel strangely happy too. 

“We have a few hours’ break before the show tonight,” Syd says as she gets out of the car with a groan. “I recommend you take a nap. God knows I’m going to.”

Richie nods, leaning back in the seat with a groan before getting to his feet as she walks away. 

“Hey, uh, Richie?” Eddie asks hesitantly as the man gets out of the car. “Can I come, ah, use your bathroom? Like, to shower? Just real fast, please- I didn’t get the chance to this morning.” 

It’s crossing a line he knows that he shouldn’t. He’s a professional, and this isn’t very professional, but he feels so gross from sweat and Richie has treated him like friend near enough that Eddie is almost able to pretend they are friends.

Richie blinks, seemingly taken aback for a moment, but then he nods. “Yeah, of course. Come on up.”

Eddie keeps a spare uniform in the trunk of his vehicle, so he grabs the bag and follows Richie upstairs. He can’t help but feel as if there’s something sordid about his request, like he’s going to taint Richie somehow with his presence, but he’s already asked and it’s too late to back out now without making it incredibly weird. 

So he follows Richie upstairs to his hotel room, something looming over him that he can’t name. There’s nothing wrong with this besides unprofessionalism, but Eddie can’t help but feel dirty anyway.

Richie lets him inside, shoulders relaxing when the door is closed.

“Shower’s in there,” Richie says with a nod. “There should be plenty of soap and clean towels left.”

“I really do appreciate this,” Eddie says as he closes the door behind him.

“Try not to use all the hot water,” Richie says with a grin that makes him look like an asshole.

Eddie makes a face at nobody and locks the door, hoping that doesn’t come off as rude. Part of him wants to make this as quick a shower as possible and another part of him wants to linger under the spray. Last night still makes him feel dirty when it replays in his head, and he can’t help but scrub harder.

But he can’t think of that right now. He’s already crossed one boundary just by being here; he’s not going to focus on his own deficiencies right now because god knows what other boundaries he might cross.

Eddie decides to listen to the part of himself that wants to make this quick, really just taking the time to scrub off the layer of grime from his earlier exertion. It always feels good, being clean. 

He’s kind of disappointed that there’s nothing really to scrounge through when he gets out of the shower. Just a toothbrush and a comb. 

When he’s dressed, his hand lingers on the door. If he just stays here… it doesn’t matter because he can’t stay here.

He opens the door and peeks his head around the corner. Richie is splayed out on the bed, eyes drooping as he watches something on the television. Seems to be taking his manager’s advice to nap.

“Thank you,” Eddie says softly, so as not to disturb him. “I’m done.”

Richie perks up instantly, looking up at him with a smile. He makes Eddie feel seen, but not aggressively so. In a way that comforts, rather than exposes or accuses. “D’you want to watch some television?” His words are blurry around the edges, from being half asleep a minute ago.

All he wants to do is say yes. “It’s not really professional- I shouldn’t even be here right now.”

Richie shrugs. “I’m not going to tell. You’re not going to tell. Syd wouldn’t tell if she knew. You don’t have to, but I promise, I’m much better company than just sitting out in the car.”

Eddie’s heart is pounding and his face is hot as if he was just made a lewd offer (he’s heard about such things from other drivers, particularly the female ones), but there’s no trace of such things in Richie’s bearing. Maybe he should be cautious, but god, he feels some sort of connection to Richie, which isn’t something that he ever feels with anyone.

That’s why he finds himself agreeing and settling on the bed next to Richie. There’s another bed, sure, but he doesn’t want to mess it up and Richie doesn’t seem to object to the sharing.

“I’ve really just been flipping around,” Richie says, sentence punctuated by a yawn.

“And you stopped on a spanish language channel?” Eddie asks.

“I fell asleep?” Richie says, with a shrug.

Eddie looks over at him and feels a surge of something he can’t name, but it’s warm and scary and it makes him smile at the other man and speak with fondness so he’s not misunderstood.

“You’re an idiot,” Eddie says.

Maybe it’s tenderness, he realizes. Maybe this feeling is tenderness.

(But it can’t be because what would it say about him, that he can conjure it for this man he’s known for less that a week effortlessly but can’t for the woman he’s married to and is in love with?)

Richie smiles at him and Eddie has to look away because he is so handsome. His heart is pounding and he’s suddenly aware of how close Richie is to him. He can feel the heat of Richie’s body, just barely, and Eddie shivers in the cool hotel room.

“Do you need me to turn the heat up?” Richie asks, concerned.

“I’m okay, but thanks,” Eddie says. 

Eddie keeps his gaze carefully away from Richie as he steals the remote control, flipping around from channel to channel. He doesn’t know what Richie likes, but there’s a car show on, so he leaves it on that channel because it’s interesting to him, at least. Richie seems like the sort who will complain if he hates it. 

He turns to start to say something, but Richie’s eyes are closed. His head has tilted towards Eddie, so he’s staring at the top of his head. 

Eddie watches as Richie’s unconscious body starts to lean towards him, fighting himself into inaction. He knows he should shove him off or move to prevent the contact, but he doesn’t, so he pretends that he didn’t realize it was happening until Richie was on him. 

He’s so warm that it cancels out the cool air conditioning in the room. But there are goosebumps on his arms anyway. 

Eddie’s heart beats fast and he can’t quite breathe right, but in a way that is almost comfort if he doesn’t look at it too closely. 

The position means that Richie’s arm is pressed against his, and he’s curved his body in such a way that his leg is pressed against him, too. It shouldn’t feel this good. It does feel this good.

Eddie is very good at keeping himself from thinking about certain things. It’s one of his strongest talents, but for a moment, he realizes a central truth: the part of himself that he keeps silent, maybe that’s not what he needs to quiet. Maybe the voice in the back of his head that tell him that he’s weak and sick that he needs to quiet. 

Carefully, ever so carefully, he quiets that dark voice and lets the silenced voice speak.

This is where he’s supposed to be, he realizes. Maybe not here, here. But not married to a woman that he feels nothing more than friendly affection on a good day (and something darker on bad ones), but instead with a handsome man that he could, just maybe, love. Be attracted to, at least.

He can’t quite think all of it without hearing his mom’s voice in his head talking sneeringly about _the homosexuals_ , but it’s closer to thinking about it than he’s been able to do in his life. 

Richie shifts in his sleep and his hair brushes against Eddie’s cheek. Eddie feels like a fifteen year old when his heart starts pounding hard, except he can’t remember what being fifteen was really like (and if he did, he knows that it wouldn’t have been like this; it’s not like he would’ve forgotten he’s gay). 

It’s like what being fifteen should be like, heart fluttering over something so little. 

Eddie tilts his head just a little so that his cheek is resting firmly on the top of Richie’s head. He forgets the entire rest of what came before or what will come after, and he decides that just this moment exists. 

Just this moment is good.

* * *

Richie wakes up slowly, feeling more relaxed than he can ever remember being. He realizes that he’s curled around someone else.

It should cause him alarm, but something keeps him calm. He looks up to see Eddie smiling down at him. 

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Richie says softly, not moving.

“It’s okay,” Eddie says. 

Eddie bites his lip and Richie contemplates kissing him. There are a million reasons why he shouldn’t, but he can’t remember any of them. 

And his lips look really nice.

But before Richie can do anything, Eddie has placed his hand on Richie’s cheek. He tilts Richie up to a better angle before pressing their lips together.

Richie reaches up for him, gripping the back of Eddie’s head to pull them closer together. He wants to be close to another person again, and for some reason, it has to be Eddie. His lips do feel good against his, and Richie relaxes against him. 

He’s been so alone, so achingly alone, but Richie remembers in this moment what it is to feel whole. What it is to be completely honest with yourself and the person that you’re with. To not be terrified of what the other person will say.

(He should look closer into this, into why he’s so comfortable with Eddie; Richie has never been comfortable with anyone; Richie is only comfortable with himself when he’s six drinks in and can’t remember his name) 

The moment ends, because every moment has to, and Richie is left staring into this stranger’s eyes. 

The realities of the situation start to press in on him: the press, potential headlines, blog posts and comments and everyone looking at him and _knowing_. It makes him feel like there’s a man sitting on his chest all of a sudden- and not in a fun way.

Richie’s only solace is that Eddie looks just as winded. 

“We can just pretend that this didn’t happen,” Richie says. 

He wishes he was brave enough to not say that, but he’s not. Not for this stranger. Not for himself. Maybe if there was someone he loved. But there’s not.

Eddie’s eyes go blank for a moment, something shifts that Richie can’t understand. 

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Eddie says. “That’s a very good idea.” 

Richie didn’t know it was possible to put at ease and disappointed so severely at the same moment. He packs that away, never to be dealt with.

“Good,” Richie says. 

He tries not look like he wants to kiss Eddie again; he tries not to look like he wants everything that he’s denied himself for so long; he hopes he does better at pretending than Eddie does.

* * *

Eddie gets a call that night. One of his regulars is flying in early and asked for him specifically. He wants to say no, but he can’t remember why, so he says yes.

When a different man picks Richie and Syd up the next day, Richie feels a pang of disappointment that he quickly waves away. 

By the time that that afternoon hits, they’ve both forgotten each other completely. When Syd mentions that trip to New York they took that one time, Richie just laughs and plays along. When Myra mentions that one time _her_ husband got to drive famous comedian Trashmouth Tozier around, Eddie brushes off any questions with professional discretion.

Their are gaps in their memories, and truthfully, it fades from Syd and Myra’s memories faster than it would naturally. Soon enough, it’s as if it never happened. None of it ever happened.

* * *

=

* * *

Eddie doesn’t remember much about the childhood friends that bring him back to his hometown. There are flashes here and there: small children- his friends- and something that terrifies him, something that makes him reach for his inhaler and makes him want to demand that they turn this plane around so he can go home. But then he thinks about what’s waiting for him there. 

He gets into the rental and drives, and he doesn’t let anything else come back. The roads are empty compared to the New York streets he’s used to, so he speeds down the road with the windows down. The wind whips by him and the roar keeps him from having to think of anything at all.

By the time he makes it to the motel he’s staying at (the only one in town), the memories of his childhood are stirring in the back of his mind. Eddie is good at keeping them at bay, though, so he doesn’t remember why his hands are shaking or his stomach feels queasy.

Nerves about seeing his old friends again. Sure, that’s it. 

And then Richie walks in with Beverly and Ben and Eddie can feel his brain short circuiting. The memories are washing in slowly, but with Richie… just that little bit makes him feel off balance.

There’s something he forgot that he didn’t even let himself know back in childhood. And it’s weird to understand that without actually knowing that, but that’s where he finds himself.

As soon as Richie opens his stupid mouth, Eddie wants to shove him onto the table. He wants everyone else to leave, so he can shove stupid Richie onto the stupid table because he’s making stupid jokes about his marriage and it just puts Eddie on edge for reasons that he will not examine.

But it’s so comfortable and so right to be back with his friends, and once they move on from the topic of Eddie’s marriage (and mother), Eddie feels himself relaxing into comfortableness. The alcohol probably helps too. 

He can’t keep his eyes off of Richie for long, for some reason. It’s part of his charm; he demands attention, but not in a way that’s overbearing or off putting. 

And then he and Richie reach across the table to arm wrestle, and as their hands clench around each other, Eddie has a flash, more clear than the other memories coming back to him: Richie pressed against a bed, blissed out and gloriously happy. 

Another memory: Richie asleep against him, looking so soft and Eddie’s heart feeling so full. Eddie almost having a realization that he doesn’t want to.

“Lets take off our shirts and kiss!” Eddie finds himself saying before he can censor himself. 

Richie’s face turns bright red as he laughs.

* * *

As soon as Richie sees Eddie, he remembers that he’s in love with him. Then, he thinks that the notion is silly- it’s been over twenty years since they’ve seen each other. 

And then Eddie opens his mouth, and Richie realizes that it’s like no time has passed. He is just as in love with Eddie as he’s always been. He never stopped.

There had been some small part of him that had thought that maybe Eddie had loved him back. Once they got away from Derry and its prejudices and Eddie’s mom and just… everything, maybe there was a shot for them. 

But that was a child’s dream, and even if Eddie had any sort of feelings for him at all, that shitty goddamn clown made sure nothing ever did. 

Now Eddie is married to a woman. Goddamn. 

And then they reach for each other’s hands at the same time. Arm wrestling, as you do with your buddy. And he has a sudden memory burst- clearer, newer than the others. A man bent over the hood of the car, pants around his ankles. He sounds like what Richie’s alcohol addled brain imagines Eddie would, and Richie feels a surge of shame that he’s thinking of his friend like this.

He gets another unburied memory; this time, he’s in a hotel room. Drunk off his ass with Syd and having the realization that the man driving them around (that he had sex with) is Eddie. He wants to text Eddie, but Syd stops him. 

That doesn’t make sense. 

“Lets take off our shirts and kiss!” Eddie yells, eyes shining with joy. 

Richie can feel his face turn red. He always has a quip, always has the smart or rude or stupid thing to say on the tip of his tongue, but not this time. This time, he just clutches Eddie’s hand and tries to make sense of his memories.

* * *

Eddie lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling. More of his memories have come back, some from childhood and others from when he was much older. 

It’s that last category that’s driving him to insomnia. He sorts his way through them carefully, trying to figure out some way to make them make sense. 

Maybe he felt attracted to Richie because he was a link to his past. It wasn’t real attraction; he was just confused and that’s why he fell into bed with Richie.

He has a wife (the sex with Richie was better than he can imagine sex with Myra ever being) and a life back in New York (that makes him feel empty most of the time) that he loves. A few days with Richie doesn’t change any of that.

There are creaking noises from the room next to him, and he realizes that Richie must be mulling over the same memories. Maybe he should go reassure Richie that he doesn’t have any weird feelings towards him. That’d be a good idea, right?

* * *

Richie paces back and forth in his room. It distracts him enough that he’s able to focus on the memories that are too slowly unveiling themselves in his mind. The childhood memories are sweet when they’re not terrifying- except for the bullies and the killer clown that terrorized his friends, he had a pretty charmed childhood- but the memories of that week in New York City are what’s keeping him up.

From what he’s been able to piece together, he had sex with Eddie a couple of times, came out to Syd, and remembered enough to remember that he loves Eddie, until the clown wiped everything away. He keeps coming back to that first time, when Eddie looked at him in horror and fled. 

Eddie is just on the other side of the wall, probably remembering everything he did and becoming more disgusted with him. It’s tempting for him to pack everything up and flee without saying anything to anyone. He barely unpacked anything, so he could be out of Derry in two minutes. 

Maybe if he did that, he would forget everything that he’s remembered and not remember the things still buried.

That’s enough to make him stay put (well, stay pacing) because as humiliating as this all is, he can’t stand the notion of forgetting his friends. He can’t stand the notion of forgetting Eddie. 

Maybe Eddie will grant him the mercy of pretending none of it ever happened. They can be friends and ignore the homosexual elephant in the room. 

He’s startled out of his thoughts by a knock at the door. 

“Hey, uh, Richie? I know you’re awake,” Eddie’s voice is so quiet he can barely hear it, but Richie would know him anywhere. “I can hear you pacing.”

Richie freezes and stares at the door.

* * *

The pacing on the other side of the door stops as soon as he speaks. After an incredibly long minute, Eddie thinks that Richie is going to play like he’s asleep, but the door opens with a squeak.

“You look like shit,” Eddie says without thinking. It’s true- there are bags under Richie’s eyes and he looks like he hasn’t slept in days, even though it’s only been a few hours since dinner. “Uh, can I come in?”

Richie nods and steps back, giving Eddie room to enter. 

Eddie closes the door behind them. There’s an uneasiness as they try to figure out where to settle; the room is small, and there aren’t two regular chairs to sit down in, just the bed and a rickety looking desk chair. 

After a weird awkward half dance, Eddie leans against the desk and Richie perches on the bed. They’re both not-quite looking at each other.

The silence stretches on as they just continue to almost look at each other. Eddie takes in his rumpled duffle bag and the trashy airport novel carelessly thrown on the bed. Little pieces of the man he- of his friend, his brain corrects itself, but he notices the correcting- that he’s missed over the last twenty seven years.

“So, this whole thing is ridiculous, right?” Richie finally starts talking, voice high and panicked. “We’re supposed to just go down to the sewers again?”

“We really should just get out of here,” Eddie agrees.

Richie bites his lip for a moment, not looking at Eddie even more than before. “It can affect the people that we love, even if they’re not in Derry. Even if they’ve never been in Derry.”

“How do you know?” Eddie asks, frowning. 

(Eddie doesn’t mention that he really doesn’t have much in the way of people he cares about outside of the Losers. And then he reminds himself that he loves his wife.)

“My manager came with me to New York, and we had a drunken night of, uh, drunk honesty and she never mentioned it again. She’s never pushed me on the weird gaps in my memory, but there’s no way she would’ve let that go without another mention without clown magic,” Richie says. 

Eddie chances a glance at him, to really take in the fullness of Richie’s discomfort. He’s sitting so rigidly that Eddie fears that he’s about to flee the room, and Eddie has to look away again.

“I wonder if she remembers now that we remember things,” Eddie says.

Richie takes his phone out of his pocket, careful actions, and looks at it for a moment before shaking his head. 

“The only text from her is a thumbs up to me letting her know I arrived safely. No missed calls either. If she was suddenly remembering that, well, I think she’d reach out,” Richie says. 

“Maybe once we kill It,” Eddie says.

“Maybe,” Richie mumbles, and Eddie can’t tell if this Syd remembering would be a positive or a negative.

Eddie had come over here to tell Richie that them having sex didn’t have to mean anything about them as people, didn’t have to make things weird between them, there are totally straight reasons why they did the things they did. But he can’t make the words work with Richie in front of him.

Eddie has always been brave, but he is absolutely the bravest when it comes to his friends.

“I don’t love my wife!” Eddie forces the words out before he can think of what he’s going to say. “I don’t think I can love her like a husband should. I remembered our time together, and that actually felt good. You felt good. I didn’t know that being with someone could feel good like that.”

Richie has tossed his phone aside, fingers now occupied by gripping the edge of the mattress. He’s looking at him fully now, and Eddie finds a way to look back; it makes his heart pound and his throat go dry. 

“Richie, I think I’m gay.”

And Eddie feels euphoric from saying it, but he can feel tears pricking at his eyes. He can still feel the shame his mom planted in him, deep down, and there’s a wellspring of anger somewhere in there, too. 

Mostly, though, he’s euphoric from letting himself feel his own loving heart in full for maybe the first time in his life. He loves, he loves, he loves- and he loved before this moment, of course, but the possibly of doing so truly! It’s incredible.

Richie gets up and reaches out like he’s going to touch his arm, but then seems to think better of it until Eddie raises his eyebrows. Then, Richie does reach out and pulls Eddie gently towards him. 

Eddie presses himself against the warmth of Richie’s body, wrapping his arms around him. He rests his head against Richie’s chest and enjoys being close to him. A sense of rightness settles over him that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Maybe this is obvious,” Richie’s voice is quiet, something that Eddie can feel more than hear, as close to each other as they are, “but I love you. I’ve loved you since we were six years old and you offered me the half of your sandwich you dropped on the floor because you thought I’d like extra flavor. I knew right then.”

Eddie laughs and tilts his head upwards. From here, Eddie can see only parts of Richie’s face, really just his jaw and cheek, but he can see how tenderly Richie smiles at the memory.

“I didn’t think you’d actually eat it!” Eddie says. He leans up to press a soft kiss against jaw. “Sorry it took so long for me to figure it out.”

“That I would eat the sandwich from the floor?” Richie says, leaning into his touch.

“That I love you, too, duh,” Eddie says.

Richie swallows, readjusting his grip on Eddie so he has a firmer hold, and doing something akin to trying to lift Eddie up. He fails miserably and it tilts them off balance so they fall together on the bed.

“What the fuck was that?” Eddie says.

He’s laughing as he looks down at Richie, who still has just the most radiant smile on his face. 

“I wanted to pick you up, I think, but I’m very weak,” Richie says. “Oh, also, I love you.”

Eddie leans down to kiss his smile, cupping his face between both of his hands. 

“I love you,” Eddie says. “I love you so much. Man, I don’t want to ever stop saying it now.”

“Well, now we _have_ to kill that fucking clown, so you never have to stop,” Richie says. 

“If anything happens to me-”

“Don’t say that,” Richie says, shaking his head. “We’re both going to be fine, and we’re going to leave this shithole and never look back.”

Richie is looking up at him, wide eyed and desperate and terrified, and Eddie nods slowly. What he was going to ask was maybe a bit much anyway. _Hey, go make sure that everyone in my life knows who I really am, because I can’t stomach the thought of them thinking I’m the person I thought I had to be_.

And he trusts that Richie would take care of his memory.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Eddie says. “A lot of catching up, a lot of deciding where our future is going to be.”

Richie smiles again. “If you want to live in New York, I’ll move to New York. If you want to live in LA, I have a big bed. If you want to go somewhere else, well, we can work that out, too.”

“I don’t want to go back to New York. Your place is good,” Eddie says. 

Richie pulls him down to kiss again, and Eddie is pretty sure that there’s never been a more perfect moment- and he can’t wait for all of the perfect moments that he knows are ahead.

* * *

Richie wakes up to Eddie snoring loudly the next morning. He watches him sleep, tracing along the lines of his face.

The next couple days are going to be hard- hell, the next couple months are going to be hard- but he can’t help but be hopeful. 

“I love you,” Richie murmurs. “We’re going to make up for all that time.”

“Mmph, when did you get to be so sappy?” Eddie asks, eyes now half open.

“Only for you, babe,” Richie says. 

Eddie kisses him and Richie feels his stomach swoop like he’s a lovestruck teen and if they’re late to breakfast, well, that’s really everyone else’s problem.

* * *

It’s easier for the both of them to stand up to Pennywise this time- Richie doesn’t have anything to hide anymore, and it’s easier for Eddie to stand up to the remnants of his mother’s abuse when he’s able to stand on his own two feet truly as himself.

When Pennywise is dead, they flee from the house hand in hand- which is how they leap into the quarry, too. Covered in grime and blood and god knows what else, but with the biggest smiles on their faces because they’re finally free of that motherfucking clown. 

“I’ve got one thing to show you,” Richie says as they pack to leave.

“If you’re going to show me your dick, I’ve already seen it,” Eddie says.

Richie laughs. “Hey, you were impressed, I remember that much. But no, something else. Just… follow me when I make a little detour on our way out, okay?”

“Of course,” Eddie says.

* * *

Eddie is curious as he follows Richie’s car off the main road out of Derry. They both drove separately down, which sucks, but at least Eddie was able to change his flight to Richie’s He knows he’s going to have to face Myra and divorce at some point, but… not yet. 

Plus, he really wants to meet this agent of Richie’s, who called shortly after they killed Pennywise and had a very loud conversation with a very flustered Richie about that driver that he was in love with from several years ago and how the fuck did she forget that he’s gay? 

“Maybe I can convince her that it was a dream?” Richie had asked afterwards, looking at his phone hopelessly.

“A dream where she correctly guessed that you’re gay after your ridiculous straight guy act and where she prophesized you being in love with a childhood friend?” Eddie had said skeptically. “I don’t think she’s likely to buy that, even assuming she doesn’t remember I was your driver. We’ll think of something.”

Richie had perked up at that, as he does whenever either of them mentions them being together.

And so he follows right behind Richie, even when he turns off the main road. Eddie wonders where Richie could possibly be leading him when he pulls over.

Richie gets out of the car and Eddie follows suit. 

“Where are we going?” Eddie asks. 

“Right here,” Richie says.

Eddie realizes that they’re at the kissing bridge, and he follows a very determined Richie onto the bridge. 

“Want to leave our initials behind?” Eddie teases.

Richie drops to sit down, swinging his legs over the edge, and he pats the seat next to him. 

“I carved this that summer,” Richie says, tracing something in the wood. “Guess I just wanted to see it again.”

Eddie sits next to him and realizes that Richie is tracing over a very faded R+E in the wood. He looks over at Richie and the love just radiates off of him. 

“I was so scared when I carved this,” Richie says. He pulls out his pocketknife and opens it. “I thought someone would figure it out and you would think I was gross.” 

“Well, I already thought you were gross,” Eddie says gently, leaning against him. He likes how Richie’s arm automatically circles around him. “But, you know, in a cute way.”

Richie recarves their initials into the wood of the kissing bridge, and Eddie reflects that he is so lucky to have been loved so well for so long and even luckier to finally be able to return that love fully. It doesn’t fix everything, but it helps.

Eddie traces his finger over the carving when Richie is done. He wonders what he would’ve done if he had caught Richie doing this the first time, but then decides he doesn’t want to think about it. He’s feeling hopeful for the first time in a very long time, and dwelling on sad possibilities won’t help.

“Are you ready to get going?” Richie asks when they’ve sat there together.

“Yeah, let’s get the fuck out of this shithole,” Eddie says.

They walk together, hand in hand, back to their cars on the way to the rest of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank u as always to the discord smooch smooch


End file.
